And I'm that little bit of hope when my backs against the ropes
((OOC: Luke is officially dead. If you need your character to have a goodbye with him, I can probably manage that. Either way, he's dead. The italics in the death section are Becky's words in one of Luke's first posts. And Romeo is going to become non-local. This post was made in celebration of Robin's original journal creation. Two years ago as of
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It's only when he's holding her that she's flooded with her own sense of self. He's warm and here.
Somewhere inside the iciness this honesty has settled within her chest, there's warmth, too. A voice inside her mind tells her to find hope in that.
She holds onto him so tightly, unable to even conceive of letting go. She buries her face against him, trying desperately to curb the waves of anguish.
He's here. He's alive and he's here.
'There's nothing for you to be sorry about, Hermione. Nothing.'
There's not a doubt in her mind that he means it.
Her eyes remain closed and she can only see his words, everything he's described. It plays out in her mind, over and over, and it's a nightmare. It's everything she's ever feared, and she feels so sore and lacking and lost.
Nothing to be sorry about.
She buries all of those sorries, and there are so many.
Hermione can't think of them all now or she'll break, but she knows they're there. She knows Harry deserves them from someone, somewhere.
She doesn't let go. She can't.
She does pull back, just slightly, and she looks up at him. "I'll not let you go off again," she says. "Not alone." There's an apology in her voice and there's a promise.
Wherever he goes, she'll follow.
It's who she is.
She holds on and she nods, just once before resting her face against his shoulder. "You're not alone, Harry." And then, softer, because it's hard to say...even if she does mean it. "I'm glad you told me. Thank you for telling me."
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She's already been through so much having to listen to him and accept what he says, as painful as it is, even though she can't remember it. He knows that she has accepted it as truth, without question.
She has faith in him. The kind of faith that's both terrifying and heartwarming. She wants to stand with him when it comes to the end, but it's senseless. There's no reason for all of his friends to die, because he has to. He won't let another person die in his place. The thought of it is terrifying enough that his hold on her tightens.
"Hermione," he starts. The sound of his voice expresses a certain kind of ache that he feels deep within his chest. He appreciates what she's trying to do, what she's always done, but-- "I know that I'm not alone. I do. You and Ron have shown me that. When I was walking to face Voldemort, I opened the snitch that Dumbledore had given me. It had the resurrection stone inside. The spirits of my parents, Sirius, and Lupin all walked with me. I know that you and Ron would have been there if you could have. But you can't. Please."
It's useless to fight it, because he knows that she's stubborn and she would say that it was worth it. She would insist. If there really is a chance that they could get back (there had better be), he can't really stand the thought of her following him there.
He has to do this, one way or another. If necessary, he'll do it the hard way. Harry is hoping if they get back. They'll return to where they had been at that exact time, if the rifts truly are breaks in time as well as space.
"If we get home, I have to do this, and I have to do it alone," Harry says. The ache is still there, and he pauses, wincing and locking his jaw.
He can feel the pain of it as if it's actually something physical happening to him. It's a fate that he has to accept for himself, but it's nearly terrifying thinking that he'll have to fight her on this, if they do get back, that she might follow him anyway. Voldemort would likely kill her first, before killing Harry.
He shuts his eyes, resting his forehead against hers as the weight of it hits him again. "I don't want anyone else to die for me, Hermione. I can't-"
Some of that constriction in his chest eases slightly when she thanks him for telling her. He can't say if he's glad for it or not, but he promised her. He owes her the truth, and he knows that she can handle those painful truths. It still hurts that he had to tell her.
"Thank you... for being willing to listen." Harry pulls his head away again to look her in the eyes. There's a bitter burning on the edges of his again. His lips slip into a tight line. "Thank you."
For everything.
For all of these years of her faith and devotion and friendship and loyalty.
It was rarely easy, but they remained by his side. She remained by his side always, not leaving him once, even when it became too difficult, too dark to bare.
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That doesn't mean to she won't.
The sound of his voice gives her pause, however, as does the news of the resurrection stone.
"Oh," she whispers, a broken little smile on her face. His parents. Sirius and Professor Lupin. All there with him.
She glad for that. She's so glad for that.
The thought of him completely alone isn't something she can take.
It isn't until he's leaning forward, until his forehead is against hers, that something in her heart tears free. It's raw and angry and exhausted. How can I say that I'll watch him walk away to die? If they even find their way back, how could she? How could she ever do that? How could she watch someone who's a part of her soul simply walk into that certainty?
I'll never be whole again. You'll be gone.
She'll never lie to him. Never.
He takes so much onto himself, takes so much blame. It isn't right, none of it, and she knows it's almost useless to tell him so...at least now. Hermione has hope that one day he'll see. ...He must make it to that day, however.
'I don't want anyone else to die for me, Hermione. I can't-'
She bites down on her lip hard. Her chest hurts, her eyes hurt. There's nothing that doesn't hurt right now.
"All right." She touches his face with her hand just briefly, just to reassure, then she's looking down. How can she not give him this when she can see how much it's hurting him. He's always asked for so little. How can she...?
She hopes she can keep her word, hopes she hasn't just made herself a liar. She's not sure if she can. What she knows is that she hates herself just a little now.
He actually thanks her, and she knows it's for more than simply listening. There's really only one way to respond.
"You're my best friend, Harry." It's that simple and that true.
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All right.
He would understand if she isn't able to keep it, though he has faith in her strength. He knows how difficult what he's asking her is. Harry tries to imagine himself in her position, and he's not positive that he could keep such a promise if he had to let her walk to her death.
It likely makes him hypocritical.
However, he doesn't have the energy to care. She's said that she won't, and it's enough for this moment when they don't even know if they'll get back.
"Thank you," he says again, but this time for specifically this promise. "I know it's... a lot to ask."
He still doesn't quite grasp how much it means to her to be told that she has to do this. If she lives, she can go on and be with Ron. They can be together like it's meant to be. Harry hopes that Ron and Hermione both live.
So many have had to sacrificed themselves for this cause already. Let his be the last.
Harry hopes for it with no faith that it will necessarily come true.
You're my best friend, Harry.
And then he laughs, not because it's funny, but because it's so true. It's so simple, but look at all of these complications that are attached to it. He doesn't think every best friend would go to the lengths that she's gone. And he laughs softly. It's a bitter, painful, good sound.
"Yes," he says, and he sends her a smile that expresses his gratitude and his love for her better than words ever could. "I suppose I am."
The laughter translates to his voice, because he knows he is. If there's anything he knows, it's that they are best friends and they always will be, not even death can change that.
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